The groups that apparently used to be around on Wizard Forum have disappeared. I wanted to join the creative writing one before I realized they had gone- how about some of us act like it's still there, and post our writing at regular intervals?

I write quite a lot of flash fiction (miniature stories) and you can find it on my blog and some other sites. Here are two of them:

Voices

The notice outside the hall proclaimed that there was going to be a demonstration of mediumship on the following Saturday. ‘Only £10. This will be a wonderful show!’ it said. I was indignant. Calling it a show was disrespectful to the dead, and I didn’t agree with charging money for it either.

“If you don’t approve, maybe YOU should be the medium instead and do it your way,” suggested a ghost who was standing next to the hall.

“I don’t think this particular group would like that,” I replied by telepathy. “I would have to find someone else to put on the event.”

“How dare you!” cried another voice. “I’m the organizer of the show. All you can do is criticize.”

I looked all around me. A few people were crossing the stretch of grass in front of the hall. Either it was one of those, and he or she could talk by telepathy, or the organizer was dead or astrally projecting, or I was hearing imaginary voices now.

“I’m entitled to my opinion about how you do your demonstration,” I said, and the words I had just spoken appeared in writing on a blackboard which was propped below the noticeboard and was meant for more urgent announcements.

“What’s going on?” I exclaimed. “I expect I’ll wake up in a minute.” But I didn’t wake up. That was last week, and now it’s Saturday, and here I am in front of the hall again.

Relaunched

The folk songs of my youth are always played in a bluesy style now. Maybe this is not an auspicious time for my last-ditch attempt to make it as a singing star, but when I met the sugar daddy I just had to give it a try.

Now I’m up here on the vertigo heights of this stage, leaning over the microphone as I cajole the audience to look beyond the mundane consciousness of every day to something wilder, which refreshes like a spring of mineral water. Belting out the song I am not; my natural voice is soft, and the rhythm section says it better than I can with even the most basic beat.

Just close your eyes and any rhythm is a path to an altered state. Under the stage lights the shadows of amplifiers lengthen unexpectedly and gyrate to the music. Dissolution follows, at least for the concert hall, yet here we all stand at the end, so our shadow play cannot be over.

He doesn’t care whether I’m here to sign autographs or to lift hearts; it’s just a gig to him, and who am I to pretend to have met a sugar daddy? It’s really the Devil.

Most of my occult fiction is on free PDFs. See this page on my blog for a list of seven PDFs, by myself and the entity I write with, Ino.